Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“Momma Ruth give you the supplies too?” At least one of the wives doesn’t hate me. Ruth isn’t much older than I am. My father just brought her home one day and added her to his collection of disciples who live on our family compound.
“Yes,” Jezzie says. “I like her. She lets me sleep in her room.” Her voice falters. “The nights Father isn’t in there.”
“Good.” Pain and exhaustion pull me down to the floor again. “Thank you, Jezzie.”
She lets out a hiccup-sob and curls her small hand around my fingers. “I love you, Jensen. Please get better. I miss you.”
A devil wraps its hand around my throat, leaving me incapable of making any promises. But I manage to whisper back, “Love you too.”
Even if I don’t survive, I want her to know that much.
A few days later, I’m able to move without screaming. The door to my cell opens and I recoil. Fear races through my veins. But the long sweeping skirt all the women in the commune wear swishes across the stones.
Not my father.
I lift my gaze.
Ruth, her long red hair twisted into two complicated braids under a white bonnet, smiles down at me. Even in the weak light the freckles on her face and rounded cheeks suggest she should still be in school, not living as a slave to a religious fanatic who whips his children and locks them in small dark rooms for days as punishment.
She holds out a stack of clean clothing and a pair of shoes. “Your father says your confinement is over. You’re to go to school and then come straight home.”
School? Today, I can sit up without screaming. But I don’t think I can tolerate an entire day riding the bus and sitting in the hard metal chairs in each classroom. And God help me if one of the morons who enjoy mocking my clothes shoves me or even touches me. Instead of stabbing those bullies or cutting off one of their fingers—which I’ve decided I’ll definitely do one day—I’ll probably pass out from the pain.
Ruth crouches in front of me, her long dress pooling on the floor around her feet, and sets the clothes next to my hip. “Let me look at your back.”
Instead of fresh bandages or ointment, she pushes an envelope into my hands. Confused, I frown and open it. A small blue paper rectangle flutters to the floor. Social Security is printed in red, curved letters at the top. My name and a long string of numbers.
Ruth stares at me with wide eyes, but I’m not sure what she’s trying to tell me. I quickly pull out a piece of paper and unfold it. Certificate of Birth.
Documents. My documents.
I stare at her.
She bows her head and picks up a fresh roll of gauze and attends to my back. I bite my lip while she changes and cleans the wounds. Wadded up piles of rust-colored bandages drop on the floor while she works.
I stare at the envelope. A piece of green paper snags my attention.
A twenty-dollar bill.
Tears sting my eyes. Ruth barely knows me and she’s risking her own safety to help me leave? That’s what this is, right?
Or is this a test my father put her up to?
“Each punishment is worse than the one before. I’m afraid without…well you might not survive the next one,” she whispers so low, I can barely make out the words.
“What about you?” I whisper back.
“I am with child. He will not hurt me.”
Disgust churns my insides. “His?”
She sits back on her heels, shaking her head. “It does not matter.”
How can I leave my little sister in this hellish place? “Jezzie—”
“I will take care of her.” Her tone is a solemn oath. “You must save yourself, first.”
Running—leaving my little sister behind in this insanity—twists a knife of guilt deep into my chest.
Underneath my instinctive reaction, one thing becomes crystal clear.
I can’t save my sister if I’m dead.
CHAPTER TWO
Jigsaw
The demons of my past are branded into my skin. No matter how hard I twist the throttle, or how many miles of concrete I’ve put between my old life and my new one, those demons never give me peace.
On my back, the physical scars have been obscured with carefully placed ink, but they’re still an ugly reminder of the brutality I was raised in. Of who I came from.
Now, I’ve made my home on the other side of the country, far from those memories. As road captain of the Lost Kings MC, the club that’s been my family since I was twenty, I’ve found stability but I’m often still edgy and restless to run. My best friend, Logan—now known as Rooster—is the VP of our charter.
We’ve come a long way.
But the past never really rests.
Rooster’s met the perfect woman and they’ll be tying the knot soon. I love her like a sister and I’m happy for them.